The Birch Bark Books of Simon Pokagon

By Simon Pokagon and Mint Editions

The Birch Bark Books of Simon Pokagon is a collection of articles and legends written for and about the Potawatomi tribe by Simon Pokagon. Originally printed on the bark of the white birch tree, a gesture made “out of loyalty to [Pokagon’s] own people, and gratitude to the Great Spirit, who […] provided for [their] use […] this most remarkable tree,” these works paint a picture of America’s native people. “[On] behalf of my people, the American Indians, I hereby declare to you, the pale-faced race that has usurped our lands and homes, that we have no spirit to celebrate with you the great Columbian Fair now being held in this Chicago city, the wonder of the world. No; sooner would we hold high joy-day over the graves of our departed fathers, than to celebrate our own funeral, the discovery of America.” Before Chicago was one of the largest and most prosperous cities in the nation, it was home to the Anishinaabe peoples, including the Potawatomi to whom Simon Pokagon belonged. Angered with the erasure of his people and the whitewashing of the history of violence against America’s indigenous tribes, Pokagon gave this opening speech, “The Red Man’s Rebuke,” at the World’s Columbia Exposition of 1893. A lifelong activist, Pokagon dissects the false narrative of savagery and civilization which justified the actions of European settlers while vilifying those they displaced in their movement westward. During the Exposition, Pokagon would speak to a crowd of 75,000 on his hope for the future of his people. Including lesser known works, such as, “Algonquin Legends of South Haven,” “Algonquin Legends of Paw Paw” and “The Pottawattomie Book of Genesis,” this beautifully designed edition of Simon Pokagon’s work is a classic of Native American literature reimagined for modern readers.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Mint Editions
• Release date: Oct 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781513210773

Simon Pokagon

Simon Pokagon (1830-1899) was a Pokagon Potawatomi author and advocate. Born near Bertrand, Michigan Territory, he was the son of Potawatomi chief Leopold Pokagon. Educated at the University of Notre Dame and Oberlin College, he gained a reputation as an effective activist for the rights of indigenous peoples. Notably, he met with presidents Lincoln and Grant to petition for reparations from the government for violating the 1833 Treaty of Chicago, but was later accused of using his position to sell land to real estate speculators. Through his numerous articles, novels, stories, and poems, Pokagon became one of the first Native Americans to gain a national audience as a writer. In 1893, he was featured at the World’s Columbian Exposition, where he spoke to a crowd of 75,000 on the dangers of alcoholism to Native Americans, citizenship, and unity. Pokagon’s novel O-gî-mäw-kwě Mit-i-gwä-kî (1899) remains a landmark work of Native American literature.

Book preview

THE RED MAN’S REBUKE

"Shall not one line lament our forest race,

For you struck out from wild creation’s face?

Freedom—the selfsame freedom you adore,

Bade us defend our violated shore."

In behalf of my people, the American Indians, I hereby declare to you, the pale-faced race that has usurped our lands and homes, that we have no spirit to celebrate with you the Great Columbian Fair now being held in this Chicago city, the wonder of the world.

No; sooner would we hold high joy-day over the graves of our departed fathers, than to celebrate our own funeral, the discovery of America. And while you who are strangers, and you who live here, bring the offerings of the handiwork of your own lands, and your hearts in admiration rejoice over the beauty and grandeur of this young republic, and you say, Behold the wonders wrought by our children in this foreign land, do not forget that this success has been at the sacrifice of our homes and a once happy race.

Where these great Columbian show-buildings stretch skyward, and where stands this Queen City of the West, once stood the red man’s wigwam; here met their old men, young men, and maidens; here blazed their council-fires. But now the eagle’s eye can find no trace of them. Here was the center of their wide-spread hunting-grounds; stretching far eastward, and to the great salt Gulf southward, and to the lofty Rocky Mountain chain westward; and all about and beyond the Great Lakes northward roamed vast herds of buffalo that no man could number, while moose, deer, and elk were found from ocean to ocean. Pigeons, ducks, and geese in near bow-shot moved in great clouds through the air, while fish swarmed our streams, lakes, and seas close to shore. All were provided by the Great Spirit for our use; we destroyed none except for food and use; had plenty and were contented and happy.

But alas! the pale-faces came by chance to our shores, many times very needy and hungry. We nursed and fed them,—fed the ravens that were soon to pluck out our eyes, and the eyes of our children; for no sooner had the news reached the Old World that a new continent had been found, peopled with another race of men, than, locust-like, they swarmed on all our coasts; and, like the carrion crows in spring, that in circles wheel and clamor long and loud, and will not cease until they find and feast upon the dead, so these strangers from the East long circuits made, and turkey-like they gobbled in our ears, Give us gold, give us gold; Where find you gold? Where find you gold?

We gave for promises and geegaws all the gold we had, and showed them where to dig for more; to repay us, they robbed our homes of fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters; some were forced across the sea for slaves in Spain, while multitudes were dragged into the mines to dig for gold, and held in slavery there until all who escaped not, died under the lash of the cruel task-master. It finally passed into their history that, the red man of the west, unlike the black man of the east, will die before he’ll be a slave. Our hearts were crushed by such base ingratitude; and, as the United States has decreed, No Chinaman shall land on our shores, so we then felt that no such barbarians as they, should land on ours.

In those days that tried our fathers’ souls, tradition says: "A crippled, grey-haired sire told his tribe that in the visions of the night he was lifted high above the earth, and in great wonder beheld a vast spider-web spread out over the land from the Atlantic Ocean to the setting sun. Its network was made of rods of iron; along its lines in all directions rushed monstrous spiders, greater in strength, and larger far than any beast of earth, clad in brass and iron, dragging after them long rows of wigwams with families therein, outstripping in their course the flight of birds that fled before them. Hissing from their nostrils came forth fire and smoke, striking terror to both foul and beast. The red men hid themselves in fear, or fled away, while the white man trained these monsters for the war path, as warriors for battle.

The old man who saw the visions claimed it meant that the Indian race would surely pass away before the pale-faced strangers. He died a martyr to his belief. Centuries have passed since that time, and we now behold in the vision, as in a mirror, the present network of railroads, and the monstrous engines with their fire, smoke, and hissing steam, with cars attached as they go sweeping through the land.

The cyclone of civilization rolled westward; the forests of untold centuries were swept away; streams dried up; lakes fell back from their ancient bounds; and all our fathers once loved to gaze upon was destroyed, defaced, or marred, except the sun, moon, and starry skies above, which the Great Spirit in his wisdom hung beyond their reach.

Still on the storm-cloud rolled, while before its lightning and thunder the beasts of the earth and the fowl of the air withered like grass before the flame—were shot for love of power to kill